


Petrichor

by 222Ravens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5x03, Free To Be You and Me addendum, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Rain, Vocabulary, introspective, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/222Ravens/pseuds/222Ravens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Heaven has no storms."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

Dean rolls down the window of the Impala, leaning his head out.

 

"Seriously, dude? It's freakin' _pouring_. "

 

Castiel is looking up at the sky, water streaming off eyelashes that are sticking together, his beige coat weighed down with rain. Even the angel's shoes squish slightly as he shifts his weight.

 

"I am... observing."

 

"Observing what?"

 

"The rain. It's remarkable, really."

 

Dean stares for second, blinking. “Seriously? All the awesome shit on God's green earth… No disrespect, but there's an Apocalypse going on, and you stop to go on all Gene Kelly on me? Just don’t actually sing, okay? You’d probably explode something again.”

 

Castiel finally turns to look at Dean, eyes staring brilliantly in the glow of the car's headlights.

 

"Heaven has no storms."

 

"Come again?"

 

"Heaven. It has no storms. Or weather. That's such a _physical_ thing, an... Earth, a human thing. We are surrounded by light and glory always, we do not feel things such as rain. It is too impermanent for us to trifle with. Eveything is. We are righteous, but we are never angry. We are merciful, but we do not feel pity. We do not mourn, we do not love, do not feel joy. Not the way you humans do. We have faith, but we do not have hope. In some small way, I believe I am beginning to understand the appeal. "

 

Dean grimaces. “Of being human? Because let me tell..."

 

Castiel tilts his head. “Yes. Perhaps I have merely grown disillusioned by my brothers. It's... Frightening. I'm not used to feeling fear. Angels... Even the days when we were stationed on Earth, at times for centuries at a time, but always there was the connection to superiors. Doubt is not an option, not when you know your orders come directly for God. There is a... Comforting simplicity to it. You wouldn't truly understand."

 

Dean opens his mouth, about to give the 'absent father do as you're told know how you feel actually' speech, but decides he's in too damn good of a mood, and this is way too much angst for a night that started with beer and hookers. The rain had come later, on their way back to the motel.

 

"Nah. I think it's 'cause of pie."

 

"Pie?" Castiel's brow furrowed, and the angel stood, puzzling.

 

"Yeah. Think about it. Do angels get pie?"

 

"We are incorporeal beings, what need would he have of simple sustenance?"

 

"Dude, you've never had pie?"

 

"No. I had no reason to."

 

"Damn. That's almost worse than no sex. Get in the car, we are finding you a good all night diner."

 

"I will get the seats wet." Castiel points out.

 

 "Don't worry about it. Get it, okay?"

"Petrichor." Castiel muttered, walking to the other side of the car and following Dean's request.

 

Dean waits until he is settled before he asks "What was that you were mumbling a second ago?"

 

"There are... After a storm, there may be broken branches, but the rain will help things to grow stronger, and the air is... Cleaner.”

 

Dean shrugs. “I guess so.”

 

“The smell of the damp ground after a storm or rainfall. I'd.... Thousands of years, and I'd never noticed it before.

 

 You humans have a word for it, though. _Petrichor._ Enochian does not. Angels concern ourselves with the storm, not with what comes after. Good or ill. But as I said, storms are creation as well as destruction. Two sides to every coin.”

 

"Huh." Dean said. He probably needed to be drunker than he was to appreciate this conversation.

 

"The apocalypse is a storm of sorts. I am... Hoping such things may hold true for this storm as well. I do not expect to survive long enough to find if this holds true, but I wish it nonetheless.”

 

"You're a good guy, Cas."

 

Dean claps his hand on the angel's shoulder, his fingers coming away damp.

 

"But seriously. Enough damn poetry. Time for pie."


End file.
